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The New Creepy/Terrifying Tales Thread: The Vengencing

LanzLanz ...Za?Registered User regular
edited November 2010 in Debate and/or Discourse
creepyandterrifyinghead.jpg

Greetings and bienvenue, welcome once more to Debate and Discourse's Creepy and Terrifying Tales Thread. Within the walls of this hallowed haunt, you will find stories to frighten and entrance, to thrill and surprise. Shall you tread into the darkened corridors of the terrifying yarns spun by the residents of this place? Those who do may find themselves frightened beyond compare, earning sleepless nights in return for the quenching of their unspoken thirsts. But if you brave through these eldritch horrors, you may find yourself enriched from the experience.

Dare you step forward into the dank halls of this frightening abode?


Related Subjects
The (triumphant?) return of the Creepy/Terrifying tales thread: The last Creepy and Terrifying Tales thread. It stopped just short of 50 pages. You can find it here.

Marble Hornets: An online story about a group of film students who have encountered a mysterious entity known only as "The Slenderman". We have a thread on it here

Serene Knoweldge: An odd page full of creepy urban myths, from Gideon Bibles to 200 items that must never be brought back together, it's an extensive collection of the odd. You can find it here.

The SPC Foundation: Based around a fictional organization dedicated to protecting the Earth and Mankind from "extra-terrestrial, extra-dimensional, and extra-universal" threats, the SPC Foundation wiki catalogs information and case histories about just about everything bizarre, from carpets that drain blood to adorable, friendly, kitten-like creatures that turn into just-as-adorable puff-balls when threatened. You can read all about it here.

Ted the Caver: The story of a man who finds something deep inside a cave he began exploring in around 2000. It is unknown what happened to him. You can find it here.

The Dionaea House: I've not actually read this one yet, so I don't know how to describe it. Supposedly rather creepy. It is found here.

Suburban Home Haunted By Really Boring Ghosts: Not all ghosts are particularly exciting. Can be read here.

Sleep Paralysis: A few folks in the thread have suffered from this. Basically, the result of the brain waking during REM sleep but the rest of the body remaining paralyzed. It is not uncommon to suffer panic and hallucinations during the event, leading to some rather freaky shit. You can read about it here.

Night Terrors: Another sleep-related disorder, in this case where the sufferer wakens from slow-wave sleep in a terrified state, often moaning or screaming. Artist H.R. Giger has suffered from them, and is said to use them as the inspiration for his works. You can read about them here.

Now, before we dive into the eldritch and bizarre, let us look at some selections from the previous thread. Spoilered for size:
SniperGuy has his own Ring experience
SniperGuy wrote: »
Oh my christ The Ring scared the SHIT out of me. Part of it was going in not having any clue what the movie was about. All I knew was that there was this fucked up video that the movie was about, and I watched it online before the movie. I was like "Ok, that was bizzare"
Then I went and saw the fucking thing.
SHE'LL NEVER STOP MOMMY. SHE'LL NEVER STOP. WHY DID YOU HELP HER?! GOD. The worst part was that even after they figured out the mystery it's not that she just was a sad girl that needed help, she's just an EVIL FUCKING DEMON

Layout of my house at the time: Playroom with french doors, hallway outside that is part of the landing for the stairs. IF you walk straight out the playroom, there's a bannister in front of you, the stairs beyond. Left lead to my room, right lead to my sisters room and the top of the stairs. Late one night I was sitting on my PC in the playroom, when the screen flickered like it does in the Ring. Having seen the movie like a week beforehand I was freaked and decided to go to bed. I looked both ways out the playroom door, looking to my right when I hear a THUMP. A big heavy thud coming from my left, and close. I swing my head to the left and see a girl taking a shambly crawl forward, hair hanging in front of her face, arm turned at that odd angle.

I fucking panicked, jumped the bannister, thank god I didn't break my everything, and ran like a fucking madman. I got halfway out the back door before my brain registered that it was my SISTER, who was leaving the office and had fallen over. She was like 8 at the time, so she looked pretty similar to Samara.

I'm glad my panic reflex will make me run, rather than just wait for impending doom to creep down on me.

Laliibeans speaks with an actually creepy voice
Laliibeans wrote: »
Deep sea creatures leave me catatonic. Our museum has this giant squid model that is placed in an old elevator shaft and you can stand in the opening at the top on a glass floor and look at it looming up at you. To make it worse they put a large whale-shaped thing in the darkness of the shaft above you. I can't go near it. Even thinking about it is making me start to breathe rapidly...

But anyway, I had an odd experience at work once that while not creepy definitely weirded me out for a while.

I work at a utility in a department where we send out peoples water and sewer pipe plans so they don't plough into the doing their rosebed maintenance. People often like to give you too much information regarding their plumbing (butt-worm stories ahoy!) but this one call I got was just odd.

I answered the phone to be greeted by what I assume was Vincent Price back from the grave. The guy sounded like every stereotypically British vampire from a black and white horror film ever made. He had this hypnotically low voice, very proper, with drawn out syllables and this air of old about him.

He got right to the point with "Do you have a plaaaannnn?"

I told him we had many and asked for the specific property he was after. He replied with "What is the oooooldest plaaannn that you haaave?"

(You need the extended vowels. Srsly)

I told him that I had no way of looking that information up and asked again which property he wanted to know about. He seemed to think for a minute and then asked me for the church that is only a few houses from where I live. But specifically the oldest plans we had for it.

My avid horror movie-warped brain suddenly became suspicious. I stuck to protocol and the conversation went back a forth about his requirements (all just plain odd) until it came to sending them out. Turns out he had no email, no fax and no mailing address so in the end gave a very pitiful wail and told me not to concern myself with it and hung up.

To this day I wonder if some well spoken vampire is trapped in that church and can't get out because the city water pipes constitute running water.

In all seriousness though, I'm dying to hear that voice again! It was spectacularly creepy.



EDIT: Some people in the first few pages were talking about Centralia. There was talk about a month ago on an abandoned places site that it was being opened up to the public for a day sometime soon. Not sure if anyone's posted this yet but for those who live nearby if true it might be a good day out.

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    LanzLanz ...Za?Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    And some more
    Chernobyl
    Didgeridoo wrote: »
    This website always creeped me out. It's basically this lady who took a motorcycle ride through the area affected by the Chernobyl disaster and took a bunch of pictures, with some historical background interspersed in the descriptions. The website isn't really all that well designed- read the page until you hit the hyperlink that says "next page" and click that to continue on every page.

    Abandoned buildings and towns without people in them or signs of life have always freaked me out, and the Chernobyl area is pretty much the ultimate abandoned town.

    A creepy puzzle, can it be solved?
    Durendal wrote: »
    Anyone here heard of torment? I guess it can qualify as at least mildly creepy. Apparently no one has solved it yet, if there even is a solution. It's an interesting puzzle at least.

    I also remember an audio recording that I heard a while back that was also kind of interesting, but I can't find it. The story involved a pilot who was reporting some craft flying near his plane. The last thing you hear on the tape is the pilot saying "It's not an airplane", then the sound of grinding metal. The plane disappeared from radar and it's assumed he crashed.

    It may have been something from one of the earlier threads. If someone remembers this and can find the recording that would be great. I know there's a Wikipedia page on the incident, but I don't remember enough about it to find it amongst all the general UFO crash cases.

    Peff and company encounter the Slenderman
    Peff wrote: »
    So I have one that's not necessarily terrifying but definitely a little on the creepy/what thine hell side of things:


    When I was 9 (25 now) I was out in the woods with my family consisting of my brother, sister, mom, step-dad, and some "extended" relatives of ours. My sister knows this only from our stories and my brother is a year younger than I but we all remember this the exact same way. Anyway, for those of you from Washington (state) we were in the Cle Elum area, near Bullfrog for those of you who know what that is.

    So we're driving down this bumpy old logging road, my brother and I in the back of the truck just talking about cartooons and such when the road comes to a set or railroad tracks. The parents decide this is a good place to stop so we all get out and start mucking around, having a small snack, etc. A family friend of ours, Dave, is looking down the tracks when he says "Hey, what's that across the tressel?" We all look and see this dark, tall figure looming near the edge of the woods on the other side. Dave, himself, is rather tall so we're thinking its just another guy out on a stroll but my step-dad and Dave keep insisting its too weird, that he's acting strange and too tall. So we all gain a little more interest and start walking down the tracks to get a better look.

    So anyway, we're just to the edge of the tracks when my mom starts getting really nervous, she doesn't like that we can't make out any color or features on this guy and that his arms seem almost impossibly long, even given his height. Dave finally stops, and yells "HEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" The thing on the other side, stands up straight, easily giving it another 6 inches of height, looks at us, and turns back into the woods.

    At first we all didn't know what to think, then Dave and my step-dad turn to each other and go "Big Foot?" almost at the same time. My brother and I light up, because that's easily the coolest thing we've ever heard or seen. We still don't have a better explanation for it and its even fueled my brother's quest to find him again.

    Not scary, as I said, but definitely a "Hmm, more to this world than it seems" sort of moment for all of us.

    Duffel talks Caves
    Duffel wrote: »
    Ted the Caver was moderately creepy the first time I read it but some of the details just didn't work for me.

    Being from the state with this big daddy in it, it shouldn't really come as a surprise that caving is a big hobby in this part of the country, and of course a lot of people come from all over the world to try it out. I've known lots of cavers and they're usually extremely paranoid about doing any sort of permanent damage to the caves around them, since all it takes is a little push for you to cause a collapse that will bury you alive. Also, doing so is often illegal (chopping off stalagtites or other rock formations can land you in jail, and does quite frequently), as well as just taboo - cavers tend to be pretty active environmentalists, so chopping up a rock face or carving your initials into a wall that's been patiently forming for a few million years is bad form.

    Also, I have never heard of anyone taking a dog into a cave. I'm not saying it doesn't happen, but it just seems like a great way to get very lost chasing the dog down some winding passageway, not to mention most caves require lots of climbing, crawling, and other awkward movements which a dog would be physically unable to do.

    *

    On the subject of caves...

    Something a lot of people don't know is that, despite already being considered the biggest cave system on the entire planet, Mammoth Cave has never actually been fully mapped. It's an ongoing task that continues to this day, and mappers are constantly uncovering new passages and finding ways to go deeper and deeper down into the earth - a task that is limited by the fact that many of said passages are extremely tight, vulnerable to collapse, flooded (which not only requires scuba gear, but is extremely dangerous because scuba diving in an active wet cave is quite literally one of the most dangerous things you can do outside of combat), or so far from cave entrances that it can take the better part of a day just to get to where you need to start. It's obviously hazardous work for next to no pay.

    Anyway, not only is Mammoth Cave unmapped, but a most of the other caves in the state are, too, and there's a lot of them. It's one of the most active karst systems in the world, and anywhere in the state there's a very good chance that you're standing on top of a cave. I'm probably on top of one right now. Some people believe that all the caves in Kentucky are connected if you go back into them far enough - which of course, nobody has ever done.

    And when you think about it, that in and of itself is some pretty creepy food for thought... the idea that wherever you are, beneath you are those caves and tunnels, miles past where any human or animal or even light has ever reached where there's nothing but stone and dark and endless time, caves that were old since before the settlers came, or even before the Native Americans arrived tens of thousands of years ago. There are places you can go which have been dark and silent and cool since before the very dawn of humanity. Maybe it sounds strange to others, but it sends chills up my spine just thinking about it.

    Cavers tend to be a bit superstitious - like any dangerous occupation, I guess, sailors and soldiers and miners are the same way - but there's something that's simply aweing and supernatural about the world underground, something that demands a certain degree of reverence and respect.
    EDIT: Also, not creepy at all, just awesome:

    The recently discovered Giant Crystal Cave!

    3569_giant-crystal-cave-14_04700300.jpg

    070409-crystal-cave.jpg

    To be fair, the Ghosts are dicks
    Didgeridoo wrote: »
    I love Ghost Adventures. My friend calls the host "The Man Who Punches Ghosts." Like I will be watching the show and she will walk in and say "Dammit Ashley, are you watching the Man Who Punches Ghosts again? What's he gonna do, fucking punch the ghosts back to death?" And then she sits down and watches it with me anyway.

    Oh crap the Angels want the TARDIS again, don't they
    Kay wrote: »
    So, I have a few stories, but I'll start off with a bunch that all happened in one house. It wasn't my house, it belonged to a friend who lived there with her four children. (Yes, I have some friends that are somewhat older than me.) She loved to game (PnP RPGs, consoles, etc), was in a band, and worked part-time at the bar I was working in while studying for my A-levels, and she was studying biology at the Open University - she's a secondary school teacher now, and I've moved away to another town to work.

    This was a big old English townhouse - three stories, huge tall ceilings, massive rooms, lots of cupboards, nooks and crannies, and it was pretty far from tidy. Books, games, all sorts of stuff were crammed into shelves, it was basically cluttered but cool. And old. Did I mention old? The ground floor had two massive living rooms, though one of these was used as my friend's bedroom/lounge/private space that the kids weren't allowed in, a dining room, kitchen, and a cupboard under the stairs. The first floor (second to americans) had a bathroom, and three bedrooms. The top floor had the study, and the 'gaming room' where the kids had their Warhammer stuff set up. (She used to play Warhammer and Blood Bowl too, she was a pretty cool mom all told) Lots of stuff happened in that house, but only three of them really stand out in my memory. It was fairly creepy, even during the day, but never that oppressive or blatantly scary that it made us uncomfortable with being there.

    Anyhow, I was occasionally asked to look after her younger kids (the older two were in their mid to late teens - didn't need looking after, but the younger two did), sleep over if she was going away to sit an examination for her degree, stuff like that. I'd generally sleep in her bedroom if I was doing this. So I was staying over, looking after the kids, playing Resident Evil 2 in the front living room until the kids went to bed. A little after 1am or so, I went upstairs to check on the two younger ones, who were sleeping, while one of the older ones was on the computer. The other older kid was out with friends. I decided to turn in for the night, in her room downstairs. I was convinced that I was kicking the covers off the bed in my sleep, and kept waking up when the quilt and sheets slid entirely off my body and onto the floor. As in, I'd wake up to the sensation of the covers being pulled off my body and off the bed. I've never done this before, but didn't really think anything off it in the middle of the night while I was trying to sleep. I'd just crawl to the end of the bed, pick up the covers, and drag them back over me. This must have happened five or six times in the night, and I woke up with them bunched around between my legs, gripping them with both arms, as if I'd decided that I wasn't letting go of them for love nor money. I mentioned the interruptions with the covers falling off the bed to my friend when she returned, and she replied with 'Oh, they didn't fall. They were pulled. Something pulls the bedclothes off me during the night pretty regularly, but I've never felt threatened by it, so I let it have its fun.' She then demonstrated that the bedding can't just slide off the bed when some is pooled on the floor, as it's too heavy. You'd need over half of the quilt on the floor, and with half the quilt on the floor, it barely reaches your knees. It was being dragged over my shoulder and side each time it woke me up.

    Another time, myself, my girlfriend-at-the-time, and my friend were all in her study, working together. We were experimenting to see if we worked better or harder when other people were around studying, sort of how some people buddy up to go to the gym. I wandered down to the bathroom (the study is on the top floor, the bathroom on the middle floor), did my business, and as I came out of the bathroom, I saw someone heading down the stairs. I thought it was my friend, the woman that owned the house, and followed her downstairs, turned the corner at the bottom, walked along the passage to the dining room, through there, and into the kitchen. There was no-one there. This spooked me a bit, especially after what happened when I was looking after her children, so I made a pot of tea and brought it upstairs. Sure enough, the two girls were up there studying. I mentioned what I'd seen, and my friend's response is 'I've never seen that before, spooky huh?' It didn't seem to bother her in the slightest.

    The last creepy thing that happened in that house (that I was privy too), was the time I was asked to help strip some wallpaper from the walls in one of the bedrooms that the kids slept in. Again, it was myself, my girlfriend-at-the-time, and the woman that owned the house. We're happily steaming the wallpaper and scraping it off, until we get down to the lining paper. One of us (I can't remember who) caught the edge of a scraper on the lining paper, and tore a strip off accidentally. Pink wall plaster was exposed, as well as a sizeable black chunk of wall. Since we'd ruined that part of the lining, and were curious about the black bit, we tore off that lining paper, to expose a letter in black paint. We tore the rest of the lining paper off to expose more letters, which spelled out 'THIS HOUSE IS HAUNTED' in huge letters, painted in black directly onto the plaster covering the bricks. Nothing happened, no drop in temperature, no noises or freakiness, but still. Seeing that, after the experiences we'd had was pretty shocking. We covered it up again quickly, and ended up papering the room at speed so that the kids would never see it. Our friend swore us both to secrecy, with respect to her children, and asked us not to mention any of the other things we'd seen or experienced to her kids.

    She sat us all down one night with her two eldest, and told all the stories to terrify them (they were 19 and 16 at the time, I think) when we got together a few years later, though.


    Why you don't want to be Archonex's roomate
    Archonex wrote: »
    I've got a few stories. The latter story occured about half a month ago.

    I grew up living in a house that could politely be described as a "crypt", or haunted house. Not so politely, i'd describe it as the house from Poltergeist, Rose Red, or maybe The Shining. The place exuded creepiness to an absurd level, to the point where we had guests make excuses to not go into the thing.

    The place was dark, dreary, the way the lighting worked and reflected off the walls, everything looked grey and surreal, dust was extremely visible in every room, contributing to the "crypt" feel, some of the sounds of the house settling were enough to give people nightmares, and my bedroom was the same room that the previous occupant's daughter occupied.

    For referencing, their daughter was also completely batshit insane given all the stories i've heard, to the point where the previous owners of the house had to remove the lock on the door (Which was never replaced, so I can confirm that that part is true.) to her room, because she suddenly decided to bash her skull in one night. She apparently did this by choosing a wall facing the outside of the house, and proceeded to repeatedly ram her skull into it. I never got more details out of the story other then that, most likely because I was a little kid when I inquired about it, and noone wanted to give me a complex.

    Often-times at night at that place, i'd get the feeling that I was being watched if I was moving around the halls at night. Sometimes, you could see or hear things out on the lawn after midnight as well. At one point toward's the point where we moved out, I heard an inhuman, feminine shrieking sound, like someone was in pain, come from out on the lawn, which prompted me to get up, investigate, and then finally sit out in the living room all night, (Which had a wide set of open windows looking out onto the lawn.) with a butcher knife sitting on the table in front of me. Later the next day, our neighbors said they'd heard the same sound, and hadn't had the guts to investigate it themselves.

    Our neighbors once put up a pole with a lightbulb in it in their drive-way to light up their yard, and part of ours as well, at night. The next day the bulb was burnt out. Repeated attempts to replace the bulb lead to it burning out sometime at night by the next day. Eventually they just left the burnt out bulb in it.

    Overall, it was generally accepted that you didn't pry into why the place was so frigging terrifying/creepy, or why all the extra-creepy crap happened at night.

    Also, the place had a ton of cubbyholes and semi-secret little rooms that had no good, sane, reason for being there, given when it was built. The most prominent being a small "box" of a room that was built into the downstairs, underground bedroom's closet, that could (And evidently had been several times.) boarded and un-boarded up, and was just large enough to fit a small child inside.

    This "box" was literally inaccessible for an adult human, given that the entrance to it started at the floor, and the top of it ended up the height of a normal adult's knees or thighs. Also, despite it having no rat-holes or other vermin, and the house having been confirmed, multiple times, by various exterminators, as being rat-free, it'd sometimes scratch at night. Eventually, my parents decided to board it back up, and put the family safe (An extremely heavy safe.) in front of the entrance.


    Also, animals absolutely hated being taken onto our property. The sweetest/manliest dog you'd know would freak out, and eventually break down into a whimpering mess if you forced him onto it. Out of everything I saw living there, that was probably the most bizarre thing i've seen.

    The exception to the animals thing however, was crows, ravens, and snakes (The latter being very prevalent down by the garden we made, past the house. We're talking big, fat, vicious, black snakes that'd send my father into a cursing fit every time he saw one as he was maintaining the thing.). They'd gather there en-masse during the day, and then quickly vacate the premises as the sun set. We never did figure out where the hordes of snakes came from either.


    Needless to say, the place was creepy as hell, and I was glad to get the hell out of the place when we moved. All those dark nights living there gave me a healthy respect and ability for being able to creep around/creep around in the dark and being cautious about the dark too, because holy hell, that place was a thousand times creepier in the dark with no lights on then it was during the day.





    Anyways, I ended up getting woken up in the night at the new place to hear my dog, a Rottweiler, growling and barking out in the kitchen. Keep in mind, this is a dog that is sickeningly sweet to strangers most of the time, and only barks and growls at:

    A: Strangers that have dogs of their own on a leash, and mostly in a "I want to play!" sort of way.

    B: To someone he really doesn't like. Keep in mind, the dog is a complete coward to most people, despite being full-grown, and easily capable of taking down a full-grown human. In fact, he used to hide behind my, or someone else he knew, legs, whenever he met a new person.

    C: The newspaper delivery guy, who, to this very day, always shows up at the condo in the morning, engine revving as he roars into the parking lot at fourty miles an hour. This, unfortunately, often wakes the dog up and sends him into a fit.


    Suffice to say, that this isn't a dog that'll bark unless he thinks he, or someone he considers part of the "family" is in extreme danger.

    I spent the next five minutes after he started barking with my eyes closed, waiting for him to go back to sleep, figuring it was the usual asshat delivering the newspaper. After a few minutes he kept going, the sound getting more and more "angry", which caused me to open my eyes and check the clock.

    It was three hours before the damned newspaper man was supposed to show up.

    That got my ass up pretty damned fast. I practically flipped out of bed, stormed out of my bedroom, keeping an eye on the hallway in front of me, and the siderooms, heading toward's the kitchen to see what the big deal was.


    When I got there, my rottweiler was standing, looking away from the kitchen window at the other end of the room (The living room, which is completely dark at night.), growling, hair standing straight up, acting like he's about to go into full-on attack dog mode. I could vaguely make out something on the far end of the room that looked like it was hunched up, on the floor, but in my own sleep-deprived state, just figured it was the furniture.

    I turned around to look back at him, and got half-way through saying "What's wrong, buddy?", before I felt a breeze of air hit me from behind, followed by what sounded like someone female saying that sounded vaguely like "Watch out!" or "Get down!". Keep in mind, that the windows in my condominium were all closed currently and the AC was off, so I shouldn't have been feeling any air at all, nevermind a vague, breathy little voice.

    Naturally, being a sane and intelligent person, my first reaction was to figure that a burglar, probably a crazy one, was inside, right behind me, and fucking with my head before trying to shank, rape, or shoot me. I immediately spun around, fist clenched with my arm outstretched, preparing to hit whoever was behind me, and drive them sideways into the glass window of the china cabinet next to me.

    Only there was nothing there when I turned around, and I nearly ended up ramming my fist through the glass window of the cabinet instead. Meanwhile, my dog is getting more and more freaked out, slowly backing up now toward's the kitchen window, with his teeth fully beared, which, I can assure you, if you've seen those teeth of his, is a terrifying sight all-in-of-itself.


    That got my ass moving again, whatever or whoever can scare my dog into going and showing his teeth is probably something I don't want to screw with un-armed. I practically sprinted over to the knives, taking out a butcher knife, and a long steak knife, holding one in each hand so that I could stab with the latter, and hack with the former, and turned back around, conciously aware that by going out into the kitchen to investigate, I was cornered with no way to get to a phone, or get out of the house. By this point my dog had reached me and was pressed up against me still in attack-dog mode.

    The shadow I had seen on the far end of the room was gone.

    Figuring I couldn't exactly call the cops and say "I heard a voice and saw a shadow!" (Which was in hindsight, very stupid of me. Though, in my defense, having met the police in this town, i'm not sure if they'd have even bothered to show up to an actual robbery that was visually in progress, given some of the past "big-name" crimes that took place in this town.) when they showed up, I decided to clear the house, as I was absolutely convinced that I wasn't the only one awake in the house now. I went from room to room, making sure there wasn't an intruder, still armed, my dog following along behind me. Slowly, my dog began to calm down as we checked each room.

    Until we hit the last room, which, unlike all the other ones, had it's door closed (Something I don't remember doing, and had no reason to do prior to going to sleep earlier that night anyways.) at which point he went batshit crazy again, barking, growling, and generally putting me in mind more of a rabid animal, then a friendly house-pet.

    I pretty much kicked the door down and ran inside, letting out a battle-cry for the benefit of anyone who might be cornered inside, my dog almost knocking me over to get in ahead of me, somehow managing a level of ferocity while doing that which was beyond his original Kujo act.

    There was nothing inside, however. Everything was in place.

    Except the window at the far end of the room, which was wide open. A window leading out to at least a three story drop, with the wall outside leading up to the window being a sheer unclimbable surface.







    You can damn well bet that I stayed up that night, with all the lights in the house on. My dog stayed up as well, curled up on the floor next to me out in the living room, keeping an eye on the hallway leading to where the open window had been.


    When the sun came up, I got up and checked the front door, along with all the windows aside from the one that was open.

    The windows were all secured and locked. The door was locked, and the bolts were all still in place. The only way someone could have gotten in is if they had somehow managed to climb up the side of a sheer, three story wall, past two other condominium's windows, and managed to open a secured window from the outside.





    Edit: Holy crap, that was alot larger then I expected it to be. I haven't even touched on some of the mildly disturbing crap i've seen at my childhood home either.


    Edit 2: Cleaned up the text a bit to make it easier to understand what was going on.

    RocketSauce finds the key that will save the world. Or end it.
    My childhood was so goddamn boring. :?

    I had a pretty unterrifying childhood as well. The only 'creepy' thing that happened to me was when I was about 10. I was at a summer camp that regularly took us to the pool. While at the pool a friend and I noticed something shiney glinting on the bottom, so I dove down and retrieved it. It was a little silver ball with hyroglyphics going around it's circumference. One of our staff leaders saw me with it and asked what it was. Fearing he would take this badass thing I found all I could do was stammer..."uhh...umm..." My friend piped up and said it was just some piece to a game and was worthless. After the staff leader left we both shot each other looks like we'd just discovered the Holy Grail and talked about what amazing powers it might endow me.

    Through the years it would frequently disappear for a few months, or even a couple years at a time, only to be found in the oddest places. I remember retreiving it from deep within our recliner as I had accidentally dropped it a year or so before when I was playing with it. Even as a kid I knew there was something special about it. It had this odd "presence", and was very, very mysterious. So, naturally, I fucking loved it.

    Reading The Lord of the Rings some years later all of the irony was not lost on me.

    Arch and the Toilet-sitting Toothface
    Arch wrote: »
    To bring this back to "creepy", I will attempt to relate something that always troubled me, in the vein of "night terrors" and "hallucinations"...but different.

    So when I lived with my parents (about 5 years ago) we lived in a 2-story house. All the kids (sister, me, two brothers) lived upstairs. We had a den (with videogames, tv, couch, etc) as well as our own full bathroom that we had to keep clean etc. Pretty sweet deal. So one night I was reading in the den (nothing scary, I was reading comic books) when I suddenly really had to pee. So I walked out of the den and went to grab the handle for the bathroom door when I froze with my hand on the handle.

    The house was completely quiet (as it was somewhere like 2am) and I was suddenly terrified. With my hand on the door I just stood there, all the lights on in the den/hallway, nothing creepy going on at all. I was just struck with this horrible feeling of terror. I knew, just knew that if I opened the door at that moment I would see something I didn't want to or wasn't supposed to.

    Let me describe this bathroom- it was essentially a hallway. You open the door, and was about 9 ft wide and like 20ft long. On your right is the bathtub, then a little alcove with the toilet, then the sink. With my hand on the door I couldn't explain why I thought this, but I was certain that if I opened the door there would be something sitting on the toilet, waiting for me. I even knew what it would look like....you guys know that *.gif that is a thing that is essentially a huge mouth where someone's head should be? and it rotates left and right just chomping at the air?

    EDIT: THIS thing!
    mouthface.gif
    Before I had even seen that, that exact thing is what I knew was waiting on the toilet for me, just sitting there and grinning.

    I was creeped out, and went downstairs to pee.

    Wouldn't have been nearly as unsettling if I didn't keep having this feeling every now and then..

    There are times where I will go to open doors and just freeze because I know that thing is on the other side. It isn't limited to nighttime either.

    I mean I understand that this is probably just me being paranoid and having some kind of mental tumble, but it is always so damn unsettling.

    Best example- It was (again) late, but this time in my dorm at Uni. My bedroom was right across from the bathroom door (score?). One night I had to pee really badly, so I walked out. As soon as my hand hit that door I froze. I knew that thing was in there, sitting on the sink this time. Apparently I stood there with my hand on the door trembling for like a good five minutes, because my friend was in the hallway on his laptop (his roomate was sleeping and the typing bothered him). He shook me out of it by asking me what the fuck was wrong, at which point all the fear vanished, I walked in, peed, and went back to sleep.

    But really, the worst part of this was last week. My little sister was staying at my new house (cause she is rad and one of my best friends) and we were just playing smash bros when she asked me- "Hey, has this ever happened to you? You go to open the bathroom door upstairs and it just...it just feels like someone is in there, y'know? Like someone not nice...just sitting on the toilet waiting for you...."

    Me- D:

    And now, let the thread begin.

    Lanz on
    waNkm4k.jpg?1
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    JihadJesusJihadJesus Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Thank God you waited to link the SPC until after I was off the clock. Jesus, are you trying to get me fired?

    JihadJesus on
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    LanzLanz ...Za?Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    JihadJesus wrote: »
    Thank God you waited to link the SPC until after I was off the clock. Jesus, are you trying to get me fired?

    The Creepy/Terrifying Tales Thread can not be held liable for the actions which it's viewers take on or off work.

    Any attempts to do so will be met with the thread's Legal Representation
    124606183933wolframandh.jpg

    Lanz on
    waNkm4k.jpg?1
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    Raiden333Raiden333 Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    This was by far my favorite one posted last thread:
    Hmm. Ghostgoons is missing my absolute favorite goon ghost story, so I'll post it for you guys seeing as I don't have anything else to add right now. It's from the SA forum poster Volponi and it's really long and kind of rambling, so I'll be putting it into several spoilers. I really can't tl;dr this thing, so if you're interested you'll need to read it all.

    EDIT: it occurs to me that I may've missed unfiltering some of the filtered swears. Oh well, I'm sure you can figure them out.

    Prelude
    Even today, just hearing the word "basement" still sends a slight shiver down my spine, even though it's been about 35 years since the events in my childhood memories occurred. The word "cellar" provokes a similar response in me, although to a slightly lesser degree.

    [semi-related]
    In the movie "Donnie Darko", Drew Barrymore's character claims that a famous linguist (it was actually J.R.R. Tolkien) once said that the phrase "Cellar Door" is the most beautiful combination of words in the English language.

    Well, he was wrong for saying it in the first place, and she was wrong for repeating it and perpetuating the idea that the phrase is somehow beautiful. It's not. It's downright disturbing.

    FUCK THAT, and FUCK HER, and FUCK THAT MOVIE and FUCK TOLKIEN (even though I really did actually like the movie, and Tolkien). FUCK ALL of them right up the rear end for using that phrase.

    "Cellar Door" is, to me, one of the scariest possible combination of words.

    [/semi-related]


    The first time I posted this story, another goon in that thread (stinkles1112) posted a 'basement' description earlier, which seems very apt - I'd like to quote an excerpt from that post:
    Also, there was a basement which had the whole "evil presence" thing going on. My mother flat out refused to go in there after the first time she did, and that was during broad daylight. My father only did with the door open and every light in the vicinity on. I remember vividly the feeling of abject terror I felt the one time, to my memory, that I went in there, not the kind of scared you feel when you're a kid and your mom turns the light out and shuts your room door, but the kind of scared you feel when every horror movie you've ever seen comes to life and coagulates in the form of suffocating, total darkness punctuated by a hundred eyes all staring at you with a deep burning hatred.

    This is a very good (if understated) description of the feelings invoked. There are some differences; stinkles' basement was cold and seemed to affect everyone, while mine was warm and only affected children. Still, there are enough similarities to make me wonder if our basements may have been siblings born from the very same hell, or perhaps they were even connected at a deeper level; some twisted "dionaea basement" in which each of them was only a small part of a larger entity.


    OK, That's enough of that particular rant - Here we go, to the much longer ranting....

    It's going to be a long story, filled with many irrelevant details that serve no real purpose other than to demonstrate how clearly I remember it; how it has burned itself into my mind.

    I don't know how many of you are prepared to read the rambling, incoherent ravings of a madman recounting events from the lunacy of his childhood memories, so at this point you have two choices:

    (a) Skip my post and proceed to the next one; there is no "tl;dr"
    (b) Sit back, relax, settle in, and prepare yourself for the ride.

    The story begins...
    During my childhood, my family moved around a lot. My father worked for a government agency that would transfer him to different locations on a fairly regular basis. Every year or two, we'd be in a different city or state, moving into a new home.

    I was probably about 7 years old when we moved into the house with "the haunted basement". Perhaps "haunted" isn't even the right word to use - It was never really clear to me whether the basement itself was alive, or if something else, something very evil, was residing within the basement. I suppose the distinction is meaningless, because whatever it might have been, it's energy was always focused in that one particular part of the house.

    I'm not certain exactly when, how or why I came to the conclusion that it was haunted. Only that it terrified me to my very core.

    At some point within the first week of moving into this new house (before I had become aware of IT), my natural inclinations toward exploring led me toward the basement, just to play around, as children are often wont to do. At the time, the basement was new to me - it was (in my mind) 'unexplored territory', and I was a discoverer.

    I was a young child, and I didn't know any better - It wasn't until much later that I realized it's a bad idea to intrude into areas where something might prefer to be left alone - a sleeping beast is best left undisturbed - once awoken, the beast will behave in a manner consistent with it's beastly nature.

    Whatever force it was, it had decided I was unwelcome, and I somehow, instinctively knew it didn't want me around. I got the impression that it didn't like me very much at all - or perhaps it did. Maybe it liked me a little too much.

    The door to the basement was just outside of the kitchen, in a small utility room/entryway around the corner from the pantry closet. The door's handle was on the left, and hinges on the right. It opened inward toward the stairs, where there was about a 4-foot long platform before the staircase descended along the left wall. Thinking back on it, this was a pretty poor design and potentially dangerous to someone who might have been coming up the stairs. The door opening at the wrong moment could easily knock someone down the staircase, or plummeting over the railing. Of course, I never thought about such things at the time. There was a light-switch on the left wall just inside the door.

    From the doorway at the top of the staircase I couldn't actually see much of the basement, even if I flipped on the light-switch. The light illuminated the stairs well enough, but not much of the basement itself. That godforsaken room seemed to be shrouded in perpetual darkness. I could just barely make out the shape of the washing machine at the far right of my field of view.

    The basement stank, as well. Standing atop the stairs, I could smell a very unpleasant musty odor and feel hot, dank air emanating up from within those murky depths. I could also feel a presence, like it was both sentient and secretive. It knew something I didn't, and it wouldn't reveal it's dark secrets unless I went down and succumbed to it's clutches. At times, it seemed only to be playfully mischievous, trying to coax me in. At other times there was no mistaking that it basement had wicked, malevolent intentions.

    I never actually even set foot inside it; I was too frightened. Just looking down into it, I could feel the small hairs all over my body standing on end, as if even my very skin could sense the danger that lurked within that subterranean crypt, awaiting my arrival. I distinctly remember standing in the doorway at the top of the stairs, staring down into the emptiness, the dark abyss of the unknown and unknowable, desperately trying to muster up enough courage to descend into what I was convinced must be a magical portal to some other world; simultaneously wondrous and terrifying.

    I could never do it. Fear would paralyze me before I could take even the first step down that foreboding staircase. I would stand there in complete and utter horror, sweating, on the verge of tears, until eventually something would snap and I'd regain just enough control of myself to run away. And run, I did. Every single time.

    Eventually, my fear of the basement (and whatever unimaginable evils lurked within) extended to even the doorway which lead to that monstrous room. I began to avoid even the door to the basement, as if getting to close to the door would cause me to be sucked in, where I would surely suffer unspeakable atrocities. I would do my best to keep at least five feet away from that malignant, venomous doorway.

    Friends visiting
    Much like any other child, I had friends who would come to visit, play, or have the occasional sleepover. On a few occasions (when my parents weren't around, or weren't paying attention) I would dare my friends to enter the basement. None of them ever did. I never told them exactly why the basement was a scary place (and to be honest, I really didn't understand it myself - I still don't).

    They all seemed very willing to take the dare, but as they approached the door they always faltered. One of them (Paul) came closer than most; and (admittedly) closer than I ever had - He walked down the stairway to almost the halfway point, where he froze. Solid. After a moment, he turned and bolted back up the the stairs. He didn't stop once he reached the kitchen, either. He kept running straight through, and locked himself in the bathroom for 10 or 15 minutes. When he finally came out he was sweating, shaking all over, and unable to maintain eye-contact - with anyone - for the rest of the night. He refused to talk about it.

    My parents seemed to think that he might be ill, and they called his parents to express their concerns. I don't know exactly what transpired in that phone call, but I guess it was decided that everything was OK, because Paul's parent's didn't come pick him up. At least, not right then.

    In the middle of the night, Paul woke me up and said that he had to go home. I told him to shut up. I wanted to go back to sleep. He started crying and babbling about wanting to go home. After a little while, the noise woke my parents up. It was tremendously embarrassing to me - I was sure they'd never allow another sleepover after this kid woke them up in the middle of the night with his blubbering. After all, he was my friend, I was the one who invited him here, and now he's causing problems, interrupting their sleep. They told me it was OK, sometimes kids get scared for no reason. They said the best thing to do would be to let him call home, and maybe it would help him to feel better.

    My father made the phone call. He woke Paul's mother, and explained (as best he could) the situation to her. Then he gave the phone to Paul. Paul immediately started crying, the moment the phone was put into his hand. He begged his mother to come pick him up, that he needed to go home... I can still hear the tone in his voice, and the way he stretched out the vowel "e" in the word "need" and the "o" in "home". He told us all that was feeling sick, but he couldn't look any of us in the eye, and I could see the look of abject terror on his face. I knew it was the basement that had frightened him away from my house. I felt bad for daring him to go down there. He wound up gathering the few belongings he had brought with him, and my father drove him home.

    Paul and I never spoke much after that - It was almost like we weren't friends anymore, for some reason. Over the short course of time that I lived there, I'd see him at school and he'd usually avert his gaze, as though there was some unspoken thing which he didn't want to acknowledge. In any case, we were never really friends again after that, he seemed to get very uncomfortable around me and distanced himself - In fact, I don't think I ever saw him have any friends at all for the rest of the time I went to school there.

    [unrelated side-story]
    It's not really pertinent to the story, but a few years ago, my mother sent me an email containing a web-link to a news story about Paul - She'd stayed in contact with his parents throughout the years. As it turned out, Paul had grown up (as we all do), married a very nice woman, and had 2 children. He also got a job as a schoolteacher in the same town and school district where I first met him.

    Apparently at some point while he was teaching third-grade students, Paul developed an unhealthy liking of 9-yr-old girls. One of his students had come forward with allegations of molestation, and she was quickly followed by several other girls he had taught. While he was awaiting trial on multiple charges, he died from a self-administered rapid overdose of lead poisoning delivered directly to his brain via the barrel of a shotgun.
    [/unrelated side-story]

    Grown-ups didn't know
    Judging from the reactions of every single one of my childhood friends who ever came into close contact with the basement, we children seemed to be (in some fashion) attuned to the presence of whatever was lurking within it. We could sense it, even though adults were entirely unaware of it, and thus unaffected.

    My parents never showed any signs of being frightened by the basement at all. I never mentioned my fear to them for a variety of (completely illogical and nonsensical) reasons that I'll attempt to explain later.

    Occasionally, I'd see my mother coming up from the basement; usually carrying a hamper full of clean laundry. I was in complete awe of how courageous she was, to have willingly gone into (and surprisingly, returned safely from) that abomination beneath the house. I don't recall ever seeing her enter the basement, only seeing her return. I may have just 'blacked-out' any memory of seeing her enter, as the thought would have been too traumatic for my young mind to cope with.

    I'd like to think that if I'd seen her entering that dreadful tomb, I would have warned her not to go, even pleaded with her if necessary. Truth is, I probably wouldn't have. I would probably have been too afraid to voice my objections, knowing that the basement might hear me. I knew that it was evil, and I knew that it was dangerous, yet I had the suspicion that just maybe, it didn't know that I knew. Somehow, my intuition told me that I'd be safer if I didn't let it find out that I knew about it. As long as it didn't know I was aware of it, I could avoid it - but if it found out that I knew, it would have to get rid of me.

    For the rest of the time that we lived in that house, I avoided that door like some demonic infectious disease that was absolutely, without-any-doubt, determined to destroy me (or worse). As I said before, I didn't mention my fear to my parents or anyone else. Using my childhood logic, saying it out-loud might awaken "the bad thing" and bring it directly to me, like some unearthly spectral dog-whistle. It seemed to be confined to the basement (for now), perhaps it was even trapped there and unable to come out. Speaking of it aloud might be like "calling it's name", which could free it from it's underground prison and allow it to come for me. I tried my best to hide my fear, because I somehow knew that if my parents found out about that fiendishly diabolical and loathsome entity, then the basement would be forced to deal with them, as well. As old superstitions go, saying something out loud calls it to you, and telling someone else brings it to them.

    Looking back on it, I suppose they had to know how frightened I was even though I never told them. I don't think they could have possibly not noticed how consciously I avoided that door, and how quickly I moved when I did have to walk by it.

    Relief at last + Update from more recent times
    After about a year, we moved out of that house and to a different state. I still remember that basement (well, what little of it I ever actually saw) in great detail, and I'll never forget how I would become consumed by sheer terror whenever I came into close proximity to it.


    A couple of years ago while I was visiting my mother, we were talking and something reminded me of all this. I don't remember what, exactly. I don't even remember what the topic of conversation was at the time, most likely something inconsequential, but something she said, or something I said, or perhaps something on TV reminded me (all it usually takes is hearing the word "basement").

    In an off-handed sort of way, I mentioned it to her. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I remember being shocked by the way she reacted to it. What I said was probably something mostly innocuous, like "remember when I was little, how scared I was of the basement".

    She just stared at me blankly, with a very strange look on her face, and didn't say anything all. After a few seconds (not your usual 'few seconds' - these were seconds that felt like days, or perhaps weeks - timeless, infinite seconds during which I became increasingly uncomfortable), when the silence had reached a deafening crescendo and my discomfort level had peaked, I tried to change the subject. She wouldn't allow that. To my horror, she only stared at me quizzically and asked me to repeat myself. The remainder of the conversation proceeded something like this:
    "What did you just say?"
    "Ah - mmm, nevermind, it's nothing - just thinking out loud."
    "No, you weren't - What did you just say?"
    "I'm going to get another cup of coffee - do you want one?"
    "Stop avoiding my question - I want to know what you meant - Something about the basement?"
    "It's not important, really"
    "Tell me."
    "I was just saying how much it scared me when I was little."

    - [blank stare from mom] -
    "I was really glad when we moved out of that house."
    - [blank stare from mom] -
    "It's silly, I know."
    "We've never had a basement."

    Of course, I didn't believe her. I even argued with her a little. I described the door, the stairway, the noises... All to no avail.

    I tried reminding her of the night that Paul came for a sleepover, and how he had awoken so frightened that he refused to stay - she remembered the night, but she insisted that Paul had just gotten sick.

    I mentioned that the laundry machines were in the basement - She simply had to remember it; she'd been down there many times. She refused to hear any part of it - She remembered the small utility room outside the kitchen, but according to her, the laundry machines had been located in that room, and there was no door leading to a downward staircase. After a very frustrating conversation, it seemed that there was simply no way I would ever be able to make her remember, and she seemed to give up on trying to convince me.

    Later that evening, she brought out an old photo album. She sat down with me and went through photos of every house we had lived in while I was growing up. Photos of every location we had ever moved to, every city and state. She could tell me what years we lived in each home and how old I was at the time. She wanted me to point out which house I was talking about. I couldn't identify which particular house it had been. Although I could narrow it down to two possible houses based simply on my age at the time, neither one of them looked like the right house from my memory. The pictures were all familiar to me, I remembered the houses, but I couldn't place precisely which one of them it had been since none of them looked quite right. She could narrow it down to one particular house; being that it was the town where we had met Paul's family. She swore that it didn't have a basement, nor did ANY home we'd EVER lived in.

    Conclusions
    I sometimes wonder if perhaps the basement managed to somehow erase itself from her memory - Of course that would mean that it had altered my memory as well, rendering me unable to identify the house in which it dwelt, and thus preventing me from ever disclosing it's whereabouts.

    I try not to think about it too much, or too often, and I've once again decided that I probably shouldn't ever tell this story out loud.

    Rationally, I realize that there's no real danger in vocalizing any of this, but a part of me still thinks that there just might be. I have nothing to gain by saying it out loud, but I also stand to lose nothing by remaining silent about it just in case it can still hear me.

    Raiden333 on
    There was a steam sig here. It's gone now.
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    LailLail Surrey, B.C.Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    I went to that torment page...I don't even know what to put for the first solution key...

    I'm either really dumb or missing the point...or both.

    Edit: Ahh...I had the right word but was pressing enter on my keyboard and not clicking submit.

    Lail on
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    Just Like ThatJust Like That Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Lanz wrote: »
    Sleep Paralysis: A few folks in the thread have suffered from this. Basically, the result of the brain waking during REM sleep but the rest of the body remaining paralyzed. It is not uncommon to suffer panic and hallucinations during the event, leading to some rather freaky shit. You can read about it here.

    This happens to me frequently if I sleep too long (more than 8 hours). The first time was fucking terrifying, because I thought I was paralyzed for real. To "break out of it" I have to make a tremendous effort to lift one of my limbs, which always feel extremely heavy. It feels like my bedsheets have turned into lead.

    And yeah, I get hallucinations with it too. Mostly I will see shadows moving around the room, and sometimes I'll hear strange noises, usually a 'roaring' type sound but occasionally they will resemble hushed voices. I don't really get a sense of panic anymore since I am so used to it, though I will usually try to end it quickly because it feels weird and I get the impression that I shouldn't just lie there in that state for a long time.

    Just Like That on
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    DasUberEdwardDasUberEdward Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    I am not quite sure where this belongs or if it makes any sense at all but I and a lady friend went to bed one night and we both noted just how late it had become after taking a glance at the clock. We both more or less commented on how suddenly time had flown by and decided to call it a night.

    After a brief bit of restless tossing and turning I got up and decided to head to the computer only to find that it was two hours earlier than the time that had surprised us. We have no idea what the hell that was about or why we both imagined and conceded to the wrong time.

    She didn't believe me when I told her in the morning but fortunately I had activity and post logs to prove it.

    Folie à deux?

    DasUberEdward on
    steam_sig.png
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    SmokeStacksSmokeStacks Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Had a scary experience in a house I lived in once. It was in the pacific northwest (I won't get any more specific than that for reasons explained later). This was a very, very old house (it was built in the mid to late 1800s), and I (along with some roommates) were renting it. It was two stories tall and had what was originally a dirt basement, but part of it had been filled in, only not all the way (it's sort of hard to describe, so here is an MSPaint image (It's not to scale, this basement was enormous):

    basement1.png
    (Side view)

    The grey parts are the heating vents, which went to each room (they were likely the reason why part of the dirt had been moved, back whenever the heating system was installed). We had just gotten the internet up and running, but this was back when wifi was still prohibitively expensive and nowhere near as commonplace as it is today, so we decided that the best bet would be to run CAT5 down through the vent in the room that the modem was in, running the cable through the hole for the vent, tape it to the outside of the vent, and then run it through the basement and then up the hole for the vent into the other room.

    basement2.png

    So I'm squeezing my ass through the gap in between the bottom of the house and the top of the dirt, and I notice that a lot of the top has been washed away from a leak in the side of the house (the light blue line). The basement had always been really damp, and flooded a few times, so I assume that is where it came from (the water always went away after a while, but that's a different story). So I am crawling through the dirt, on my back, with a roll of CAT5 in one hand, a pair of pliers and a hammer in the other (there is barely enough room to get through, and it freaked me out a bit because I had to breath shallow or I would get stuck), and a flashlight in my mouth, when I get the bottom of my shirt caught on something.

    Turns out it's a belt buckle. I put the cable and the tools down and awkwardly position myself so that I can check it out. I wipe it off and see it's still attached to a belt, so I start to pull on it. I pull it up and I start to see the dirt shift around it. It's attached to pants. I pull more and I see more dirt move and yeah, it's attached to bones.

    I freak the fuck out and hit my head and crawl back out as fast as I can and my roommates ask me what the fuck is going on so I tell them, and they don't believe me, so one of them goes up to look and he freaks the fuck out and comes back. So at this point we sort of wonder what to do. I end up calling the Sheriff's Department (instead of the landlord, under the thought process that maybe he had Ted Bundy'd some guy and stashed him there) up and tell them "Hey, I found a dead guy in my basement, what now?", they had me give my address and describe the scene and the body and they rushed out fairly quickly.

    Long story short, there were between eight and ten dead people buried under my house, including some children.

    basement3.png

    The situation is not as grisly as it sounds, though, because they had all been there for over a hundred years. The top layer of dirt had been slowly eroded away by water leaking into the house from the crack in the wall. It turns out that the family who originally built the house were settlers, and once they got there some of them died (as settlers are prone to do), but for some reason they decided it would be better to bury their dead underneath their house instead of in a graveyard or outside (I have no idea why). I also have no idea why they weren't buried underneath the floor of the basement, maybe they ran into bedrock or something. The landlord had no idea either (he wasn't related to the original family, it had been sold quite a few times since then).

    So, they ended up being removed, and interred in a cemetery (although they were only able to ID a few of the bodies, one from an inscription on his belt buckle), and the landlord's family and the Sheriff were on pretty good terms so they were able to keep it out of the media (the landlord was planning on selling the house within the next ten years and didn't want that sort of history attached to it) and we ended up moving when our lease was up a few months later. Almost all of them were determined to have died of some sort of natural cause, and I guess a couple of them had broken bones that were really terribly set (frontier medicine), and they could tell by the conditions of the bodies that they had all been there since at or before the turn of the century.

    tl;dr - Remember all of those people who died of dysentery, snakebites, and broken arms while you were playing The Oregon Trail? They all ended up in my basement.

    SmokeStacks on
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    BallmanBallman Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Okay, that's awesome.

    Ballman on
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    AlyceInWonderlandAlyceInWonderland Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Smokestacks- That story was all sorts of awesome. And the TL;DR made me laugh heartily.

    AlyceInWonderland on
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    SirUltimosSirUltimos Don't talk, Rusty. Just paint. Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    I bought the book House of Leaves a bit ago due to hearing it mentioned in these threads. Is it as terrifying as I hear?

    SirUltimos on
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    HybridHybrid South AustraliaRegistered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Raiden333 wrote: »
    This was by far my favorite one posted last thread:
    Hmm. Ghostgoons is missing my absolute favorite goon ghost story, so I'll post it for you guys seeing as I don't have anything else to add right now. It's from the SA forum poster Volponi and it's really long and kind of rambling, so I'll be putting it into several spoilers. I really can't tl;dr this thing, so if you're interested you'll need to read it all.

    EDIT: it occurs to me that I may've missed unfiltering some of the filtered swears. Oh well, I'm sure you can figure them out.

    Prelude
    Even today, just hearing the word "basement" still sends a slight shiver down my spine, even though it's been about 35 years since the events in my childhood memories occurred. The word "cellar" provokes a similar response in me, although to a slightly lesser degree.

    [semi-related]
    In the movie "Donnie Darko", Drew Barrymore's character claims that a famous linguist (it was actually J.R.R. Tolkien) once said that the phrase "Cellar Door" is the most beautiful combination of words in the English language.

    Well, he was wrong for saying it in the first place, and she was wrong for repeating it and perpetuating the idea that the phrase is somehow beautiful. It's not. It's downright disturbing.

    FUCK THAT, and FUCK HER, and FUCK THAT MOVIE and FUCK TOLKIEN (even though I really did actually like the movie, and Tolkien). FUCK ALL of them right up the rear end for using that phrase.

    "Cellar Door" is, to me, one of the scariest possible combination of words.

    [/semi-related]


    The first time I posted this story, another goon in that thread (stinkles1112) posted a 'basement' description earlier, which seems very apt - I'd like to quote an excerpt from that post:
    Also, there was a basement which had the whole "evil presence" thing going on. My mother flat out refused to go in there after the first time she did, and that was during broad daylight. My father only did with the door open and every light in the vicinity on. I remember vividly the feeling of abject terror I felt the one time, to my memory, that I went in there, not the kind of scared you feel when you're a kid and your mom turns the light out and shuts your room door, but the kind of scared you feel when every horror movie you've ever seen comes to life and coagulates in the form of suffocating, total darkness punctuated by a hundred eyes all staring at you with a deep burning hatred.

    This is a very good (if understated) description of the feelings invoked. There are some differences; stinkles' basement was cold and seemed to affect everyone, while mine was warm and only affected children. Still, there are enough similarities to make me wonder if our basements may have been siblings born from the very same hell, or perhaps they were even connected at a deeper level; some twisted "dionaea basement" in which each of them was only a small part of a larger entity.


    OK, That's enough of that particular rant - Here we go, to the much longer ranting....

    It's going to be a long story, filled with many irrelevant details that serve no real purpose other than to demonstrate how clearly I remember it; how it has burned itself into my mind.

    I don't know how many of you are prepared to read the rambling, incoherent ravings of a madman recounting events from the lunacy of his childhood memories, so at this point you have two choices:

    (a) Skip my post and proceed to the next one; there is no "tl;dr"
    (b) Sit back, relax, settle in, and prepare yourself for the ride.

    The story begins...
    During my childhood, my family moved around a lot. My father worked for a government agency that would transfer him to different locations on a fairly regular basis. Every year or two, we'd be in a different city or state, moving into a new home.

    I was probably about 7 years old when we moved into the house with "the haunted basement". Perhaps "haunted" isn't even the right word to use - It was never really clear to me whether the basement itself was alive, or if something else, something very evil, was residing within the basement. I suppose the distinction is meaningless, because whatever it might have been, it's energy was always focused in that one particular part of the house.

    I'm not certain exactly when, how or why I came to the conclusion that it was haunted. Only that it terrified me to my very core.

    At some point within the first week of moving into this new house (before I had become aware of IT), my natural inclinations toward exploring led me toward the basement, just to play around, as children are often wont to do. At the time, the basement was new to me - it was (in my mind) 'unexplored territory', and I was a discoverer.

    I was a young child, and I didn't know any better - It wasn't until much later that I realized it's a bad idea to intrude into areas where something might prefer to be left alone - a sleeping beast is best left undisturbed - once awoken, the beast will behave in a manner consistent with it's beastly nature.

    Whatever force it was, it had decided I was unwelcome, and I somehow, instinctively knew it didn't want me around. I got the impression that it didn't like me very much at all - or perhaps it did. Maybe it liked me a little too much.

    The door to the basement was just outside of the kitchen, in a small utility room/entryway around the corner from the pantry closet. The door's handle was on the left, and hinges on the right. It opened inward toward the stairs, where there was about a 4-foot long platform before the staircase descended along the left wall. Thinking back on it, this was a pretty poor design and potentially dangerous to someone who might have been coming up the stairs. The door opening at the wrong moment could easily knock someone down the staircase, or plummeting over the railing. Of course, I never thought about such things at the time. There was a light-switch on the left wall just inside the door.

    From the doorway at the top of the staircase I couldn't actually see much of the basement, even if I flipped on the light-switch. The light illuminated the stairs well enough, but not much of the basement itself. That godforsaken room seemed to be shrouded in perpetual darkness. I could just barely make out the shape of the washing machine at the far right of my field of view.

    The basement stank, as well. Standing atop the stairs, I could smell a very unpleasant musty odor and feel hot, dank air emanating up from within those murky depths. I could also feel a presence, like it was both sentient and secretive. It knew something I didn't, and it wouldn't reveal it's dark secrets unless I went down and succumbed to it's clutches. At times, it seemed only to be playfully mischievous, trying to coax me in. At other times there was no mistaking that it basement had wicked, malevolent intentions.

    I never actually even set foot inside it; I was too frightened. Just looking down into it, I could feel the small hairs all over my body standing on end, as if even my very skin could sense the danger that lurked within that subterranean crypt, awaiting my arrival. I distinctly remember standing in the doorway at the top of the stairs, staring down into the emptiness, the dark abyss of the unknown and unknowable, desperately trying to muster up enough courage to descend into what I was convinced must be a magical portal to some other world; simultaneously wondrous and terrifying.

    I could never do it. Fear would paralyze me before I could take even the first step down that foreboding staircase. I would stand there in complete and utter horror, sweating, on the verge of tears, until eventually something would snap and I'd regain just enough control of myself to run away. And run, I did. Every single time.

    Eventually, my fear of the basement (and whatever unimaginable evils lurked within) extended to even the doorway which lead to that monstrous room. I began to avoid even the door to the basement, as if getting to close to the door would cause me to be sucked in, where I would surely suffer unspeakable atrocities. I would do my best to keep at least five feet away from that malignant, venomous doorway.

    Friends visiting
    Much like any other child, I had friends who would come to visit, play, or have the occasional sleepover. On a few occasions (when my parents weren't around, or weren't paying attention) I would dare my friends to enter the basement. None of them ever did. I never told them exactly why the basement was a scary place (and to be honest, I really didn't understand it myself - I still don't).

    They all seemed very willing to take the dare, but as they approached the door they always faltered. One of them (Paul) came closer than most; and (admittedly) closer than I ever had - He walked down the stairway to almost the halfway point, where he froze. Solid. After a moment, he turned and bolted back up the the stairs. He didn't stop once he reached the kitchen, either. He kept running straight through, and locked himself in the bathroom for 10 or 15 minutes. When he finally came out he was sweating, shaking all over, and unable to maintain eye-contact - with anyone - for the rest of the night. He refused to talk about it.

    My parents seemed to think that he might be ill, and they called his parents to express their concerns. I don't know exactly what transpired in that phone call, but I guess it was decided that everything was OK, because Paul's parent's didn't come pick him up. At least, not right then.

    In the middle of the night, Paul woke me up and said that he had to go home. I told him to shut up. I wanted to go back to sleep. He started crying and babbling about wanting to go home. After a little while, the noise woke my parents up. It was tremendously embarrassing to me - I was sure they'd never allow another sleepover after this kid woke them up in the middle of the night with his blubbering. After all, he was my friend, I was the one who invited him here, and now he's causing problems, interrupting their sleep. They told me it was OK, sometimes kids get scared for no reason. They said the best thing to do would be to let him call home, and maybe it would help him to feel better.

    My father made the phone call. He woke Paul's mother, and explained (as best he could) the situation to her. Then he gave the phone to Paul. Paul immediately started crying, the moment the phone was put into his hand. He begged his mother to come pick him up, that he needed to go home... I can still hear the tone in his voice, and the way he stretched out the vowel "e" in the word "need" and the "o" in "home". He told us all that was feeling sick, but he couldn't look any of us in the eye, and I could see the look of abject terror on his face. I knew it was the basement that had frightened him away from my house. I felt bad for daring him to go down there. He wound up gathering the few belongings he had brought with him, and my father drove him home.

    Paul and I never spoke much after that - It was almost like we weren't friends anymore, for some reason. Over the short course of time that I lived there, I'd see him at school and he'd usually avert his gaze, as though there was some unspoken thing which he didn't want to acknowledge. In any case, we were never really friends again after that, he seemed to get very uncomfortable around me and distanced himself - In fact, I don't think I ever saw him have any friends at all for the rest of the time I went to school there.

    [unrelated side-story]
    It's not really pertinent to the story, but a few years ago, my mother sent me an email containing a web-link to a news story about Paul - She'd stayed in contact with his parents throughout the years. As it turned out, Paul had grown up (as we all do), married a very nice woman, and had 2 children. He also got a job as a schoolteacher in the same town and school district where I first met him.

    Apparently at some point while he was teaching third-grade students, Paul developed an unhealthy liking of 9-yr-old girls. One of his students had come forward with allegations of molestation, and she was quickly followed by several other girls he had taught. While he was awaiting trial on multiple charges, he died from a self-administered rapid overdose of lead poisoning delivered directly to his brain via the barrel of a shotgun.
    [/unrelated side-story]

    Grown-ups didn't know
    Judging from the reactions of every single one of my childhood friends who ever came into close contact with the basement, we children seemed to be (in some fashion) attuned to the presence of whatever was lurking within it. We could sense it, even though adults were entirely unaware of it, and thus unaffected.

    My parents never showed any signs of being frightened by the basement at all. I never mentioned my fear to them for a variety of (completely illogical and nonsensical) reasons that I'll attempt to explain later.

    Occasionally, I'd see my mother coming up from the basement; usually carrying a hamper full of clean laundry. I was in complete awe of how courageous she was, to have willingly gone into (and surprisingly, returned safely from) that abomination beneath the house. I don't recall ever seeing her enter the basement, only seeing her return. I may have just 'blacked-out' any memory of seeing her enter, as the thought would have been too traumatic for my young mind to cope with.

    I'd like to think that if I'd seen her entering that dreadful tomb, I would have warned her not to go, even pleaded with her if necessary. Truth is, I probably wouldn't have. I would probably have been too afraid to voice my objections, knowing that the basement might hear me. I knew that it was evil, and I knew that it was dangerous, yet I had the suspicion that just maybe, it didn't know that I knew. Somehow, my intuition told me that I'd be safer if I didn't let it find out that I knew about it. As long as it didn't know I was aware of it, I could avoid it - but if it found out that I knew, it would have to get rid of me.

    For the rest of the time that we lived in that house, I avoided that door like some demonic infectious disease that was absolutely, without-any-doubt, determined to destroy me (or worse). As I said before, I didn't mention my fear to my parents or anyone else. Using my childhood logic, saying it out-loud might awaken "the bad thing" and bring it directly to me, like some unearthly spectral dog-whistle. It seemed to be confined to the basement (for now), perhaps it was even trapped there and unable to come out. Speaking of it aloud might be like "calling it's name", which could free it from it's underground prison and allow it to come for me. I tried my best to hide my fear, because I somehow knew that if my parents found out about that fiendishly diabolical and loathsome entity, then the basement would be forced to deal with them, as well. As old superstitions go, saying something out loud calls it to you, and telling someone else brings it to them.

    Looking back on it, I suppose they had to know how frightened I was even though I never told them. I don't think they could have possibly not noticed how consciously I avoided that door, and how quickly I moved when I did have to walk by it.

    Relief at last + Update from more recent times
    After about a year, we moved out of that house and to a different state. I still remember that basement (well, what little of it I ever actually saw) in great detail, and I'll never forget how I would become consumed by sheer terror whenever I came into close proximity to it.


    A couple of years ago while I was visiting my mother, we were talking and something reminded me of all this. I don't remember what, exactly. I don't even remember what the topic of conversation was at the time, most likely something inconsequential, but something she said, or something I said, or perhaps something on TV reminded me (all it usually takes is hearing the word "basement").

    In an off-handed sort of way, I mentioned it to her. I don't remember exactly what I said, but I remember being shocked by the way she reacted to it. What I said was probably something mostly innocuous, like "remember when I was little, how scared I was of the basement".

    She just stared at me blankly, with a very strange look on her face, and didn't say anything all. After a few seconds (not your usual 'few seconds' - these were seconds that felt like days, or perhaps weeks - timeless, infinite seconds during which I became increasingly uncomfortable), when the silence had reached a deafening crescendo and my discomfort level had peaked, I tried to change the subject. She wouldn't allow that. To my horror, she only stared at me quizzically and asked me to repeat myself. The remainder of the conversation proceeded something like this:
    "What did you just say?"
    "Ah - mmm, nevermind, it's nothing - just thinking out loud."
    "No, you weren't - What did you just say?"
    "I'm going to get another cup of coffee - do you want one?"
    "Stop avoiding my question - I want to know what you meant - Something about the basement?"
    "It's not important, really"
    "Tell me."
    "I was just saying how much it scared me when I was little."

    - [blank stare from mom] -
    "I was really glad when we moved out of that house."
    - [blank stare from mom] -
    "It's silly, I know."
    "We've never had a basement."

    Of course, I didn't believe her. I even argued with her a little. I described the door, the stairway, the noises... All to no avail.

    I tried reminding her of the night that Paul came for a sleepover, and how he had awoken so frightened that he refused to stay - she remembered the night, but she insisted that Paul had just gotten sick.

    I mentioned that the laundry machines were in the basement - She simply had to remember it; she'd been down there many times. She refused to hear any part of it - She remembered the small utility room outside the kitchen, but according to her, the laundry machines had been located in that room, and there was no door leading to a downward staircase. After a very frustrating conversation, it seemed that there was simply no way I would ever be able to make her remember, and she seemed to give up on trying to convince me.

    Later that evening, she brought out an old photo album. She sat down with me and went through photos of every house we had lived in while I was growing up. Photos of every location we had ever moved to, every city and state. She could tell me what years we lived in each home and how old I was at the time. She wanted me to point out which house I was talking about. I couldn't identify which particular house it had been. Although I could narrow it down to two possible houses based simply on my age at the time, neither one of them looked like the right house from my memory. The pictures were all familiar to me, I remembered the houses, but I couldn't place precisely which one of them it had been since none of them looked quite right. She could narrow it down to one particular house; being that it was the town where we had met Paul's family. She swore that it didn't have a basement, nor did ANY home we'd EVER lived in.

    Conclusions
    I sometimes wonder if perhaps the basement managed to somehow erase itself from her memory - Of course that would mean that it had altered my memory as well, rendering me unable to identify the house in which it dwelt, and thus preventing me from ever disclosing it's whereabouts.

    I try not to think about it too much, or too often, and I've once again decided that I probably shouldn't ever tell this story out loud.

    Rationally, I realize that there's no real danger in vocalizing any of this, but a part of me still thinks that there just might be. I have nothing to gain by saying it out loud, but I also stand to lose nothing by remaining silent about it just in case it can still hear me.

    Cheers, man. This was gonna be the first story I asked about when I saw this thread.

    Hybrid on
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    FrosteeyFrosteey Elaise 1521-2945-8940Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Lanz wrote: »
    Sleep Paralysis: A few folks in the thread have suffered from this. Basically, the result of the brain waking during REM sleep but the rest of the body remaining paralyzed. It is not uncommon to suffer panic and hallucinations during the event, leading to some rather freaky shit. You can read about it here.

    This happens to me frequently if I sleep too long (more than 8 hours). The first time was fucking terrifying, because I thought I was paralyzed for real. To "break out of it" I have to make a tremendous effort to lift one of my limbs, which always feel extremely heavy. It feels like my bedsheets have turned into lead.

    And yeah, I get hallucinations with it too. Mostly I will see shadows moving around the room, and sometimes I'll hear strange noises, usually a 'roaring' type sound but occasionally they will resemble hushed voices. I don't really get a sense of panic anymore since I am so used to it, though I will usually try to end it quickly because it feels weird and I get the impression that I shouldn't just lie there in that state for a long time.

    I had this once when I was like seven. I woke up and the room was almost completely dark, but I could barely make out the darker area of the doorway and then some terrifying woman came out of it and I panicked and tried to grab something to protect myself with but I couldn't move. I am pretty sure she sat on top of me but I don't really remember anything after trying to grab something.

    I'm pretty sure that was just like, the standard experience, but it was the worst thing in the universe : ( I was afraid to sleep without a light for like a decade after that : (

    Frosteey on
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    GR_ZombieGR_Zombie Krillin It Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    SirUltimos wrote: »
    I bought the book House of Leaves a bit ago due to hearing it mentioned in these threads. Is it as terrifying as I hear?

    I found it pretty damn creepy myself. It's mostly fear-of-the-unknown/paranoia type horror, which hits most of my spooky buttons, so ymmv.

    GR_Zombie on
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    Raiden333Raiden333 Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    House of Leaves isn't something that scares you while you're reading through it wondering what's going to happen next.

    House of Leaves scares you 2 years after you've read it in the middle of the night, and you won't even remember House of Leaves as the cause of it.

    Alternatively, House of Leaves scares you when you realize you're on your 4th time rereading it putting your own notes in the margins because you think you're finding themes in the text nobody else has found yet.

    Raiden333 on
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    SmokeStacksSmokeStacks Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    The best part about House of Leaves is loaning it to your roommate afterward and watching her frown and turn the book every which way as she reads it.

    As for my old house, we used to call downstairs the "Indiana Jones Basement", because it was huge, dark, and had spiderwebs so thick they looked like movie props. That, and the stairs were old, steep, and rickety as fuck. Basically, going down there (especially while drunk), it was always a gamble as to whether you would come back uninjured.

    The reason the floodwater never stayed was because there was a small hole in the cement floor. I don't know when the cement was poured (and neither did the landlord), but there was a small hole in it over on one side, about the size of a flagpole.

    So this hole was dark, and no matter how big of a flashlight you shined into it, you could see nothing but blackness. Dropping coins, pebbles, whatever into it, you never heard the sound of it hit the bottom. We dropped a bunch of those Dollar Store glow sticks down there, nothing. Anyway, we thought it was a pipe, so that's where the water from the washer would drain, just a little tube out the back of the washer, and the end of it pushed right into that hole.

    So one time a plumber is there for something (I think the Landlord's insurance company had to have a plumber check the condition of the pipes or something), and he's in the basement and he sees this washer draining arrangement. He instantly gets a strange look on his face and tells us that the drainage from the washer is supposed to go into this other pipe that is above the basement floor. So he looks at me, and I look at the landlord, and I ask him "So where the hell does that hole go?" and he says "I don't know", then he looks at the plumber and says "Where the hell does that hole go?", and the plumber says "Don't look at me", and shakes his head. So we pull the tube out of the hole and put it into the pipe it is supposed to go into.

    Later on that night we're moving some shit back down into the basement that we had upstairs and it's me and one of my roommates and we set it down and she starts to say something but I hold my hand up. I hear something. Something that sounds like moaning. I walk around, trying to pinpoint the source.

    It's coming from the fucking hole.

    I'm freaking out, and my roommate is freaking out, but I sack up and get down on the floor and listen closer. It sounds like very faint moaning. Finally I'm like "Fuck this" and I put my ear right up on top of the hole, and I feel the slightest draft of cold air flow directly into my ear.

    So basically, there was this hole in the cement floor of the basement, and it had taken at that point untold gallons of water from both the washer and flooding, we had no idea how deep it was, or what was in it, but all that we knew was that it had an outlet somewhere that was causing the draft to go through it, which was causing an otherworldly moaning sound to emanate from my basement floor.

    Part of me is very sad that I ended up moving, because I really wanted to pull a Stir of Echoes and start tearing up the floor to see exactly what the fuck was down there, but another part of me is glad that I moved, since there is a chance it's just a gigantic sinkhole and that house is ready to collapse into a hole in the Earth any minute now.

    SmokeStacks on
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    SelnerSelner Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    On the topic of Night Terrors and Sleep Paralysis, I've recently developed a rather odd sort of reoccuring dream.

    It's not really scary or freaky, it's just strange.

    What happens is that I will wake up in the middle of the night, and be convinced that there is water on the floor and that the house is flooding. I will physically get out of bed and try and clean up the water or move things out of the way.

    It doesn't help that my bedroom floor is wood, and a little shiny. So if there's enough moonlight coming through the window it can make the floor appear wet.

    This happened almost every other night during the last couple of weeks, as the snow was melting from the recent snow storms around DC. I think my brain was convinced that melting snow was leaking into the house.

    However, the same "waking dream" also happened when we were out of town last weekend. So it's not limited to my house.

    Selner on
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    darkmayodarkmayo Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    holy fuck, that basement story was awesome. Keeping an eye on this thread.

    as well does someone have a link to goon ghost stories or is it on the private SA forum?

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    SipexSipex Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    I have a creepy story from our old apartment.

    It was a crappy triplex, in low repair. We lived on the 2nd floor of the house in a two bedroom apartment and had two neighbours below us.

    It starts with one of our neighbours complaining about the noise we make. Since only our kitchen and spare bedroom (mainly storage) are the only things above him we make an effort to be quieter in the kitchen and close the spare bedroom door so the cat isn't knocking things over.

    Then we start opening the windows during the summer and our cat starts picking at the screens of all the windows open.

    I swear I hear footsteps in the living room one night and bravely set out with a display sword I own. I look around and some stuff is knocked over and our cat is outside on the roof. A dark figure sprints from the corner, past me, into our room and under our bed.

    Lovely, a squirrel has gotten in.

    It takes about 12 hours to finally catch the thing (tip: oven mitts are good against squirrel bites) and finally take it outside.

    We replace the screens and are forced to keep the windows closed while we're not home or awake.

    My wife complains about a 'clicking' sound she hears coming from some of the windows.

    That's right, the screens are still getting picked at. Apparently the squirrel told all his buddies that he liked the inside of our house (probably because we gave him peanut butter). We're still forced to keep the windows closed since our cat will try to go out onto the roof over the porches (which our windows overlook).

    Our neighbour complains about the noise again, he's...a bit of a prick and our other neighbour is an even bigger prick so we tell him it's not us, our other neighbour must be banging around. I also ask him if the squirrels pick at his window screens. He only has one window which doesn't open (main floor, bad neighbourhood, entrance for potential thieves) so there's no screen on it.

    Things go on like this for a while, all our screens get cat/squirrel sized holes in them and the neighbour downstairs complains. My wife stops complaining of the clicking noise because all the windows now have holes.

    Things are quiet for a while, my neighbour even stops complaining. Then one night I hear a crashing sound come from the spare bedroom.

    We rush to the room, open the door and there's glass everywhere, our window has broken. Probably kids throwing rocks we think. We call the landlord and he immediately comes over and agrees to fix the window, prompt service I figure what what the hell? It was kind of creepy and he was a nice guy to have around anyways. It was about 6am so we didn't lose that much sleep.

    I have to argue with him to get the screens replaced though, he's reluctant but eventually gives in. He also tells me to keep my windows closed and locked at night. Locked?

    click click click

    I wake up the next night, I hear a clicking noise from the windows.

    click click click

    I thought squirrels slept at night.

    click click

    I investigate and see a something flit away from the window. There's a new hole slowly being picked into the screen.

    Now, it's getting close to the high time of summer, things in the apartment are pretty warm now and only going to get worse. We don't own an air conditioner so I figure if I can scare the squirrels away while they're picking, they'll eventually give up and we can keep the windows open so we don't roast.

    I sleep out on the couch that night, I figure the squirrels will pick at that window since it's where they started last time.

    Click click click

    I wake up and look at the window. I'm not even sure what I saw but it was definitely bigger than a squirrel. I can't even describe it. It was like, the size of a child and is sitting on the roof picking at the window. I freak the fuck out and my wife wakes up.

    Whatever it was is gone.

    What the hell was picking at our windows? Why only small holes?

    It suddenly came together that night.

    The holes aren't for squirrels...it's for hands.

    I convince my wife to let me check something. I remove the screen to the most recently picked window and step out onto the roof of our neighbours porch. Outside it's obvious to me, there are scratches and gouges on the windowpane.

    It has been trying to open the windows

    We moved soon after that.

    Sipex on
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    SpacemilkSpacemilk Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    D:

    Sipex I was reading this thread at work with the door closed because I didn't want anyone to know I was goofing off... your story scared me enough that I had to reopen my door, I decided I didn't care if I got in trouble.

    D:D:D:

    In other news the stories from the old thread, in the 2nd post, are still deliciously creepy. Archonex's story and the basement story are my favs.

    Spacemilk on
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    BoredGamerBoredGamer Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Fuucccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkk

    BoredGamer on
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    darkmayodarkmayo Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    definately Archonex's story was great.

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    psychotixpsychotix __BANNED USERS regular
    edited February 2010
    Racoon?

    We had those all over the place where I grew up, nasty fuckers. They can get big as well. They will get into your house and it's a bitch to get them out.

    On a side note, I have sleep paralisys, and it is indeed terrifying at times, though kinda cool when you know what is going on.

    psychotix on
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    matt has a problemmatt has a problem Points to 'off' Points to 'on'Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    So, not to crap on it, but the "Ted the Caver" piece is actually a ripoff of a short story written in the 80's.

    http://web.archive.org/web/20050117173007/www.dougaustin.com/tlcaves/pdf/Thefearofdarkness.pdf

    (takes a while to load).

    The story doesn't end with "I'm going back to the cave, I'll update you when I get back", either.

    matt has a problem on
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    ArkanArkan Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    I marathoned house of leaves in about 10 hours when I got it and didn't think it was too scary.

    A week later I suddenly became unable to sleep without some kind of light nearby on for a while. Walking around the house at night without any lights on went from boring (I have a good sense of direction so I generally don't need to see where I'm going to get around) to inexplicably terrifying.

    Something about that book just sticks in your head and after you read it, after a while it'll just slither its way insidiously into the animal part of your brain and scare the everloving shit out of you.

    Arkan on
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    psychotixpsychotix __BANNED USERS regular
    edited February 2010
    Arkan wrote: »
    I marathoned house of leaves in about 10 hours when I got it and didn't think it was too scary.

    A week later I suddenly became unable to sleep without some kind of light nearby on for a while. Walking around the house at night without any lights on went from boring (I have a good sense of direction so I generally don't need to see where I'm going to get around) to inexplicably terrifying.

    Something about that book just sticks in your head and after you read it, after a while it'll just slither its way insidiously into the animal part of your brain and scare the everloving shit out of you.

    What's the deal with this book?

    psychotix on
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    AsiinaAsiina ... WaterlooRegistered User regular
    edited February 2010
    I never finished House of Leaves. Got about half way through then let a friend borrow it. But I totally agree in that it's not something that is in any way scary when you're reading it. It's weird, but not frightening. Then a couple days or weeks will go by and you'll be in the dark and just be scared shitless with no practical reason to be.

    It's kinda scary that this is other people's reaction to it as well.

    Asiina on
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    ArkanArkan Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    psychotix wrote: »
    Arkan wrote: »
    I marathoned house of leaves in about 10 hours when I got it and didn't think it was too scary.

    A week later I suddenly became unable to sleep without some kind of light nearby on for a while. Walking around the house at night without any lights on went from boring (I have a good sense of direction so I generally don't need to see where I'm going to get around) to inexplicably terrifying.

    Something about that book just sticks in your head and after you read it, after a while it'll just slither its way insidiously into the animal part of your brain and scare the everloving shit out of you.

    What's the deal with this book?

    You have to read it. It doesn't lend itself very well to explanations.

    Arkan on
    Big, honkin' pile of WoW characters
    I think it's hard for someone not to rage at mario kart, while shouting "Fuck you Donkey Kong. Whose dick did you suck to get all those red shells?"
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    ArchArch Neat-o, mosquito! Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    So, not to crap on it, but the "Ted the Caver" piece is actually a ripoff of a short story written in the 80's.

    http://web.archive.org/web/20050117173007/www.dougaustin.com/tlcaves/pdf/Thefearofdarkness.pdf

    (takes a while to load).

    The story doesn't end with "I'm going back to the cave, I'll update you when I get back", either.

    I like the "Ted The Caver" version MUCH better

    spoiler for the story it ripped off
    Magic shaman ghost demon fighting

    Also- the worst part...the WORST part about my story in the OP is that someone else, I forget who, chimed in with "Oh man I thought I was the only one who that happened too! Does the thing look like this"? and then linked a picture they drew that was exactly what the fuck I thought was going to be waiting for me.

    Also Sipex it was probably a raccoon. Or a possum.
    Or a hellbaby trying to get into your house and eat you

    Arch on
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    psychotixpsychotix __BANNED USERS regular
    edited February 2010
    Asiina wrote: »
    I never finished House of Leaves. Got about half way through then let a friend borrow it. But I totally agree in that it's not something that is in any way scary when you're reading it. It's weird, but not frightening. Then a couple days or weeks will go by and you'll be in the dark and just be scared shitless with no practical reason to be.

    It's kinda scary that this is other people's reaction to it as well.

    I've been googling about this and not finding much

    psychotix on
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    DunxcoDunxco Should get a suit Never skips breakfastRegistered User regular
    edited February 2010
    The Dionaea House unnerved me pretty badly. Not in the sense of "Oh crap I hope my house isn't like that". More in the "I will never set foot in old houses again" way. Thanks for linking it - lost my bookmarks not too long ago so I can enjoy scaring myself witless all over again.

    Dunxco on
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    ArchArch Neat-o, mosquito! Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    psychotix wrote: »
    Asiina wrote: »
    I never finished House of Leaves. Got about half way through then let a friend borrow it. But I totally agree in that it's not something that is in any way scary when you're reading it. It's weird, but not frightening. Then a couple days or weeks will go by and you'll be in the dark and just be scared shitless with no practical reason to be.

    It's kinda scary that this is other people's reaction to it as well.

    I've been googling about this and not finding much

    The first version of this thread got me to pick up House of Leaves (and also was when i started lurking!) but I was never able to get through the book.
    The 'punk rock' narrator just really bugged me, and made the book unreadable. i don't really care about the hot bitches you are scoring or whatever and frankly i don't really trust the descent into madness of a drug addled tattoo shop employee as much as i do the descent of a well respected artist and literary critic or whatever

    Arch on
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    GahmriousGahmrious Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Selner wrote: »
    On the topic of Night Terrors and Sleep Paralysis, I've recently developed a rather odd sort of reoccuring dream.

    It's not really scary or freaky, it's just strange.

    What happens is that I will wake up in the middle of the night, and be convinced that there is water on the floor and that the house is flooding. I will physically get out of bed and try and clean up the water or move things out of the way.

    It doesn't help that my bedroom floor is wood, and a little shiny. So if there's enough moonlight coming through the window it can make the floor appear wet.

    This happened almost every other night during the last couple of weeks, as the snow was melting from the recent snow storms around DC. I think my brain was convinced that melting snow was leaking into the house.

    However, the same "waking dream" also happened when we were out of town last weekend. So it's not limited to my house.

    Welcome to having night terrors. I had them pretty regularily from the ages of 6 until I was about 14. What was absolutely horrifying was the way I'd always wake up. My dad would break me from an absolutely chaotic and terrifying experience by putting me in the bathtub full of cold water. I can't remember anything specific about what I was so afraid of, but I remember it always started with a sense of confusion or frustration, then I'd go into a fit of rage while asleep. I'm glad I don't have these anymore.

    Gahmrious on
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    psychotixpsychotix __BANNED USERS regular
    edited February 2010
    On sleep paralysis,

    For me it's extremely odd. Most of the time, I'll wake up a couple times a night frozen in bed with an odd sound in my ears and feel vibrations through my body in tempo with it. Which is kinda fun. Other times I wake up convinced there is somebody laying next to me in bed or on me, other times I see vague things.

    I stopped caring about it when I knew what it was.

    psychotix on
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    viciousdogatakviciousdogatak Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Arch wrote: »
    psychotix wrote: »
    Asiina wrote: »
    I never finished House of Leaves. Got about half way through then let a friend borrow it. But I totally agree in that it's not something that is in any way scary when you're reading it. It's weird, but not frightening. Then a couple days or weeks will go by and you'll be in the dark and just be scared shitless with no practical reason to be.

    It's kinda scary that this is other people's reaction to it as well.

    I've been googling about this and not finding much

    The first version of this thread got me to pick up House of Leaves (and also was when i started lurking!) but I was never able to get through the book.
    The 'punk rock' narrator just really bugged me, and made the book unreadable. i don't really care about the hot bitches you are scoring or whatever and frankly i don't really trust the descent into madness of a drug addled tattoo shop employee as much as i do the descent of a well respected artist and literary critic or whatever

    I also started House of Leaves and got about halfway through because of the previous thread. Not only did I not find it scary, it was an absolute chore to read. The author was way too up his own ass about how clever he was and the different shapes that they made with the text just made the book a pain to read. I firmly believe that anyone that says that having one word per page of having to turn the book upside down in any way supplements the actual words is a liar.

    Despite all that, the concept was really cool and I wish I had the discipline to finish it because I really would like to know how it ends.

    viciousdogatak on
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    DunxcoDunxco Should get a suit Never skips breakfastRegistered User regular
    edited February 2010
    I should pick up this book, and I will do. I don't get scared by books, but I just get so engrossed in them I have to finish it in one sitting.

    Dunxco on
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    JihadJesusJihadJesus Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Ah, the raccoon talk reminded me of something. I think I told a short version of this story in one of the old threads, and it's the only thing that ever happened to me that can still give me the shivers thinking about it while in my well lit office eating my tuna sandwich for lunch. I must have been about 13 at the time, and we were on a family camping trip out on the Washington coast. We’d all been sitting around the campfire BSing, and it was well after dark. Not exactly 2 AM, dead-of-night kind of stuff but late enough that there were few people out and about in the campground.

    Eventually the Coke is doing its thing on me and I need to make a run to the bathroom. It’s not that far off, but it’s basically just dropped down in the middle of this thick overgrown wooded area between two areas of the camp, so that everyone can get access to it. The path there takes a turn off the main campground thoroughfare and dives through this overgrowth, which is so thick it practically looks like a hedge maze, and then pops out by the bathroom. I head on my merry way down this way, when something glinting in the bushes catches my attention – eyes glowing in the dark right at the edge of the drip line of these bushes reflecting the moonlight.

    I didn’t even stop. No reason to. There are more raccoons than people around here, and having hit them with a flashlight (which, huh, I think I forgot this time? Eh, no biggie) tend to glint like that. I carry on, although something’s kind of tickling at the back of my mind, and just as I step out of the underbrush and into the light by the bathroom, and right as I enter range of the only electric light for at least a half mile in any direction my hair stands on end as my brain starts putting together the details I didn’t even notice I had observed. The eyes were at least three feet off the ground, about hip level, and at the very edge of the bush in a place where there just couldn’t have been a raccoon sitting on a branch. Wouldn’t have supported the weight. The spacing was wrong, too. Too far apart, too big. Looked more like the spacing I’d see on my dog, a friendly 115lb beast with a head like a bear. But they glinted in the dark, like cat eyes. Cat eyes…

    That was a cougar.

    Jesus fucking Christ, that had to be a cougar. In retrospect, I think the only reason I made it into the bathroom instead of pissing myself right there was because of the idea of getting further into the light and getting a door between me and that cat. That dirty restroom felt like salvation as soon as I got the door closed, let me tell you.

    Unfortunately, at some point I had to go back up that path. I seriously considered just parking my ass on the pot and waiting for daylight, or at least for someone else to show up to take a leak. But I was 13 and not about to get ribbed for being afraid of the dark the rest of the trip. After sitting on a none-too-clean toilet for 10 minutes or so, I convinced myself it was probably just a raccoon anyway. I was letting my imagination get away from me, acting like a kid. Time to grow a pair.

    So I practically kick the door down and burst out into the night, but as soon as the door’s open and I see all that dark waiting out there this starts to seem like a damned fool plan. By the time I turn the corner onto the path and into the dark, since the bushes screen the light well enough to make my light-adjusted eyes practically useless, I’m once again certain my fate is to be dragged into the underbrush, eviscerated, and devoured. Out of the corner of my eye I see a flash, just a glint again, and my stomach just drops. I was right, and with this earth-rending shriek I’ll never forget, everything just goes nuts.

    Something flashes out of the bushes, a shadow. A BIG fucking shadow, and all the sudden everything’s a tangle, kind of like that instant of impact you didn’t see coming when you take a hit playing football, and I don’t know which way is up. I’m flailing wildly trying to hit whatever I can as hard as I can as many times as I can, screaming my head off, thrashing and doing my best to run and kick at the same time. I’m not sure if I’m standing or running or completely wiped out on the ground, it’s like all my senses and body awareness have just completely shut down and started going berserk on their own, frantic and panicked on a basic animal level, terrified and convinced I’m about to be dragged into the underbrush or straight into Hell itself and I can feel it, feel it dragging me…

    nowhere? I’m just standing there, a few steps up the path, quivering and shaking. My throat is hoarse like I’ve just spent three hours screaming at a football game and my hands and feet are sore and raw from hitting….something. But I’m alone, and there are no eyes, and I haven’t been clawed to bits, and WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?

    I’m not ashamed to admit I bolted like a rabbit right then, just ran for my damned life, ran for the fire and other people and anything that was safe and made sense and didn’t stop until I found it. I never said anything. I let them think I just scared myself stupid in the dark. Hell, that’s what I let myself think. But something DID happen on that path. I know it did, because even though I screamed until I could barely talk and even though I bruised the hell out of my hands whaling on something, no one sitting at the fire less than a hundred feet away heard a damn thing.

    Most of the time I can convince myself it was my imagination, or the only panic attack I’ve ever had. Most of the time.

    JihadJesus on
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    ArchArch Neat-o, mosquito! Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    The scientist in me hates this thread and keeps going "THAT WASN'T REAL THEY ARE MAKING IT UP"

    but then the part of me that sat through every x files episode goes "SHUT UP THAT WAS SWEET AND I AM KINDA CREEPED OUT RIGHT NOW"

    luckily that second part wins out

    Arch on
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    darkmayodarkmayo Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    Arch wrote: »
    The scientist in me hates this thread and keeps going "THAT WASN'T REAL THEY ARE MAKING IT UP"

    but then the part of me that sat through every x files episode goes "SHUT UP THAT WAS SWEET AND I AM KINDA CREEPED OUT RIGHT NOW"

    luckily that second part wins out

    I know that feeling, I am generally a skeptic on lots of things, but I give myself the pleasure of allowing a belief in creepy ghost shit, life is more fun that way.

    darkmayo on
    Switch SW-6182-1526-0041
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    SipexSipex Registered User regular
    edited February 2010
    This demands more stories.

    Sipex on
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